


No such thing as the unknown

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [21]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7697767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is one thing to give a gift.  It is another thing entirely to accept a gift when one is offered to you, especially when such things have the potential to change your world and everything around you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No such thing as the unknown

**Author's Note:**

> This is set, once again, before Mairon's fall. The idea is based on the prompt **Alan_None** had of "flirting" a while back, though I am not sure if there is quite enough of that in here to entirely fit! 
> 
> Thank you very much to _Naamah_Beherit_ for reading through this for me before it was posted. I appreciate your efforts quite a bit.
> 
> Enjoy!

The small clearing was peaceful, filled with gentle light and the fragrance of so many flowers as they turned their pretty faces upward to the sky. Mairon traced the petals of one nearby, velvet and soft under his touch, and reluctantly turned his eyes back to the leather-bound notebook spread before him on the plush grass. He took up his stick of graphite again, mind already miles ahead as he recalled Aulë’s lessons from earlier - lessons he had learned long ago - and all the Vala wished for him to transcribe for safekeeping in written word.

“I still do not understand why Aulë does not do this himself.”

Mairon paused in his writing, glancing around briefly to where Melkor was lounging in the sweet-smelling clover just behind him. He had plucked one of the three-leafed stems and was studying the gently changing hues of green. Mairon watched him for a moment before blinking back down at his book. 

“I have always been assigned this task,” he replied, both an answer and not one at all. “I'm doing this so Master Aulë can do other things with his time aside from write. It is a waste of his efforts.”

Melkor scoffed with this response, tossing the clover back to the ground. Mairon saw it float past in his periphery as it was taken up on the light breeze, though he did not turn back again even as he heard Melkor flop his body onto the ground. 

“It is a waste of your _own_ efforts,” Melkor muttered, meaning what he said in such few words.

Mairon did not respond. Though, the more he allowed himself to consider such things...the more he felt the bitter, heavy truth of them. He bit his lower lip, flustered with his thoughts and not appreciating the disquiet they brought to his mind. The scratching of his graphite against the paper filled the silence, falling in with the gentle wind through the trees surrounding the hidden little glade they had taken refuge in. 

Suddenly there was a soft snap of greenery at his back, and then the rustling of clover being bent into the grass preceded a light touch of fingers along his scalp. Mairon tensed, beginning to turn around to see how very _close_ Melkor had come to him as he sat, but Melkor shushed him before any question could leave his mouth. 

“Continue with your pointless work,” he said quietly, “and do not mind me as I find amusement for myself.”

The cool stem of a flower slid behind his ear, and Mairon could not resist reaching up to brush his curious fingers against the many tiny petals he found there. A dandelion, just like the hundreds spread all around them. 

“Leave it be,” Melkor murmured in amused reproach even as Mairon withdrew.

“What are you -”

“Amusing myself,” the Vala said again, very softly. His words stirred the fine hair near Mairon’s ear where they had been left from his braid and a chill ran along his spine at the odd feeling. “Keep working, as you are so intent on doing.” 

The request was a difficult one, however, when Melkor tugged at the leather strip holding the loose braid together and dropped it indelicately to the grass, using his fingers to run unconcernedly through the silken strands until they all hung loose. He was much more gentle in this task than Mairon would have expected, and he was quite unable to continue writing as those nimble fingers instead began to tug his hair this way and that back onto this head into some elaborate new braid of many twists and turns. 

Melkor paused after a moment, reaching casually out toward another patch of dandelions. Mairon’s eyes followed his movement, watching sharply as he plucked several more and dropped them onto the open notebook. One, he kept in his hand.

“A bit plain, this little flower,” he mused, extending the plant out for them both to see. “Wouldn’t you say? And the color does not match your hair, I wouldn’t think. How about…” He blew gently on the small petals, and a hint of magic scented the air. The dandelion quivered on its stem until, quite suddenly and with such grace, the petals both withdrew and expanded, some of them growing outward until the flower had changed its shape and color completely. 

“How about a lovely fire lily instead? Yes, I think so. This blend of red and orange suits you quite well.” Melkor pulled the lily away before Mairon could respond - though he was too taken aback to speak just yet regardless - and suddenly Mairon felt the thin stem of it sliding into one of the smaller braids at the side of his head. 

“Are you still writing?” Melkor asked, his words low and still very close even if the question was lined with amusement.

“I am,” Mairon replied, immediately pulling the book close and looking down at it again. But his heart was fluttering against his throat as the Vala behind him leaned closer still and continued to play with his hair, pulling it into whatever design he wished. A very strange situation, indeed. Like so many others he had found himself in lately, and it was becoming more and more difficult to find the will to care, the will to remind himself this was _wrong_ , when he found himself taken in more and more by Melkor’s energy and power and touch upon his skin.

“Good,” Melkor murmured, his voice doing nothing to calm the reddening in Mairon’s cheeks. “I do enjoy watching you work, whatever the work may be. Even,” he added softly as he created a subtly shaded dahlia from another dandelion, “even if I do not agree with you doing the job another’s hand should be completing.” 

Mairon fell silent, staring down at the nearly-full pages of the book he was meaning to fill with words and instructions and Aulë’s knowledge laced with his own. Several more stems fell in with the braids and twists taking shape in his hair, Melkor’s fingers continuing to slide so gently against his scalp. His question - a single question - had been burning against his lips since it had first been posed so long ago now and, as suddenly as it had been raised in his mind, the words came rushing forward. He swallowed it back again, releasing his breath as a gentle puff of air. Melkor noticed, and Mairon felt his eyes glide up his neck to the side of his face as though his long fingers had left his hair to trace the path on his flesh.

“What would Vana say of this?” Mairon finally asked instead, his original question falling away, cast aside. “Her precious flowers being turned to something other than her making.”

Melkor reached around to hand forth a stalk of tuberose, and Mairon took it, holding the fragrant blooms under his nose to inhale the scent. Another of the same was slipped into his hair. “I am simply adding to her creation, not destroying anything from her hand,” Melkor said with a smile. “I wish to see you wearing _jewels_ , sparkling in the light wearing gold and silver and the brightest mithrils, decadent and bedecked with the finest gems. If those cannot be provided, I shall improvise.” 

He punctuated this string of words by lowering his head and pressing his lips to the exposed skin of Mairon’s neck. The touch burned, and he pulled away just as swiftly, though still close enough for his breath to brush across Mairon’s shoulder. “Should you like those things, as well?”

“I can’t say I have given it any thought,” Mairon said as diplomatically as he could given the situation when he was quite sure the beating of his heart was visible from the thudding of it through the pulse of it in his neck.

“Have you not?” Melkor laughed, running his fingers again through the strands of Mairon’s hair that were still loose. “I surely have. Gems, yes, and glittering jewelry, but also clothed in beautiful handspun silks and the finest cottons, soft as the petals of these flowers. Only such fine materials are suitable for you, Mairon, and I would like to see this sight. Alas,” he added with a dramatic sigh, “I will pretend with my flowers instead. If only they glittered, for they _are_ lovely in your hair.”

Mairon did not respond, and silence fell when Melkor did not speak again. It was a pleasant silence, truthfully, and Mairon closed his eyes, allowing himself to turn his focus away from the words he should be writing and instead to those nimble fingers as they finished a long many-stranded plait down his back. It was such a soothing sensation, having someone work with his hair. Or play with it, rather, for that is what Melkor was doing, truly, playing with his hair. None of the other Maiar had ever done such a thing with him before, though he had often seen them sitting together in the gardens, trying new styles on each other.

The calm movements along his scalp, the feeling of his hair being tugged so gently into whatever creation Melkor saw fit...it was relaxing, in a way Mairon hadn’t really imagined it could be. He was almost saddened when those fingers drew away, and he turned slightly to see Melkor lowering his hands.

“Finished,” the Vala said softly. “Though you shall have to wait until you return indoors with a mirror to see the completed product.”

Mairon reached upward, his hand immediately meeting several buds and blossoms at the side of his head. A twisting braid wrapped around the side, more flowers tucked there, and many more were woven into the long braid at his back. “Where did all these come from?” he asked, feeling more varieties than were in the glade around them. More than he recognized.

Melkor handed one of the unused blossoms to him, another dahlia, and Mairon dropped his hand to take it somewhat hesitantly. This one - this one was a gift, and the meaning behind it was clear as the fragrant air around them. 

Their fingers brushed in the exchange, lingering there on the stem, though Mairon did not pull away from the touch. Melkor leaned forward again until Mairon felt his face near the back of his head, heard him take a deep inhale against his hair, taking in the scents he had created there. His chest was broad against Mairon’s back now, close and ardent with his newfound task. 

“You said, before, that you had not given any thought to a life of decadent glamor,” Melkor murmured, still so close. Mairon’s heart beat against his throat again, and he held motionless as Melkor reached out a hand to rest on Mairon’s thigh and slid his large palm upward toward Mairon’s hip. He stopped halfway. Mairon could hear the wolfish smile in his voice when he spoke again. “But you have given great thought to _something_ , I can see it plainly in your eyes. Might you share with me?”

“I -” 

But his words were cut short when Melkor suddenly dipped his head and began to press his lips to Mairon’s neck again in a most distracting way, trailing from ear down to his shoulder. “You are so quiet today, Mairon,” Melkor observed with a self-important little chuckle.

“I -” His second attempt was thwarted by that damned hand on his thigh moving again, inward this time, Melkor’s fingers splaying over the muscle of his leg. Mairon swallowed and narrowed his eyebrows, closing his eyes for only a moment to regain his composure. These moments - he was never sure, while they were happening, if he was enjoying them greatly or if he should make them stop. And so, taking a breath, he covered Melkor’s hand with his and firmly moved it away from its wandering destination. He thought, perhaps, he was enjoying it to the point it _needed_ to stop. 

“I cannot imagine why,” he finally replied with only a hint of fluster. “Do control yourself, won’t you?”

Melkor laughed again, the breath of it hot against Mairon’s skin when he paused his lips near Mairon’s shoulder. “Quiet _and_ tense,” he mumbled, clucking his tongue as though in gentle reprimand. “No matter. You are still such fun to play with.” 

And he smiled, then, the feeling of his lips and teeth searing against Mairon’s neck now until a flush crept up to his ears all but giving his state away. Melkor chose to ignore the color and instead said, “Now tell me, dear one, what is distracting you so? I know it is not this ridiculous book.”

“No,” Mairon admitted after a moment, allowing the change in subject if somewhat grudgingly. “It is not the book, you are correct.” 

He stared down at the dahlia still clasped in his fingers, the stark whiteness of its petals a thing of such extraordinary beauty. His question rose to the surface again, and suddenly he regretted removing Melkor’s hand. Distractions were necessary, sometimes, weren’t they? And it wasn’t exactly a bad distraction, even if these dalliances never went anywhere. He twirled the dahlia’s stem, the flower a dizzying swirl of petals.

“Will you tell me, you beguiling creature?”

Mairon was genuinely bewildered when two arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Neither hand dropped anywhere inappropriate, as Mairon had expected with this unexpected touch, and Melkor instead clasped his hands together just below Mairon’s navel. He rested his chin on Mairon’s shoulder and sighed somewhat contentedly. He was very, _very_ close, too close to look at properly, but Mairon turned his head anyway in an attempt to catch Melkor’s gaze. All he saw was that mane of dark hair obscuring his sharp profile. He brought his face forward again.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “fine, I will tell you. I have been thinking of the mountains.”

“The mountains?” Melkor repeated, surprised with this answer. His deep voice rumbled through his chest against Mairon’s back, and the Maia shifted in Melkor’s embrace - for this _was_ an embrace, there was no other term for it - and attempted to ignore the flutter in his stomach this sensation produced.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Ever since you mentioned them. The mountains far from here, those you created. You...you find gems there, gems you bring me to work with.”

“I do,” Melkor affirmed, tone softening.

“And you…” But Mairon paused, unable to continue even when the question began to burn as brightly as Melkor’s touch, ready to fall from his lips. He already knew the answer he would receive, and perhaps - perhaps that was the cause of his hesitation. “You’ve said you would take me there,” he finally pressed forward. “To these mountains. To see them myself.”

This time Melkor craned his head around and sought Mairon’s eyes, surprised. “What is this, then, you desire to join me for an adventure?”

Mairon glanced in his direction, finding him again so very close, his face so near he could feel Melkor’s breath breaking upon his cheek, and then dropped his gaze toward the forgotten book. The dahlia was tight in his grasp and he did not set it down. “I do. If you are still willing to guide me there.”

“Certainly, I am still willing.” Melkor settled again behind him, his chin resting once more on Mairon’s shoulder as his arms tightened just so about his waist in a way that was almost possessive. Or, just maybe, it was _protective_ , shielding him from something unseen or unknown. “The gems you will find there, Mairon, are beyond your comprehension. The beauty outside the walls that have held you captive here… Yes, of course I will take you - and return you here again, as I always promised I would.” 

He nuzzled his nose against the side of Mairon’s face, just at his ear, and his voice was soft, near and low as it reverberated through them both with his subtle energy spilling forth and pulling inward. An intoxication, that energy, and Mairon sighed with it.

“I already know where I shall take you,” Melkor murmured, grinning against Mairon’s neck again. “A young mountain, still tumultuous with growth and alive with molten earth. Veins of rubies darker than any you can find here shimmer near the magma’s edge deep in the mountain’s heart. We can take as many as you want, enough to decorate you with those precious stones instead of these flowers.”

The thought was thrilling. _Thrilling_ at the prospect of seeing such a magnificent sight, him alone. Thrilling, knowing he would touch these extraordinary rubies with his own hands. And thrilling, deep inside his mind where he was only barely willing to give this single thought voice, that he would be so far afield with Melkor, away from prying eyes, away from the Valar, away from his home. An adventure, Melkor called it, and an adventure it would be, of that he was certain.

“You...you do not have any conditions, for my passage?” Mairon asked softly, a part of his rational mind still reeling with concern when the rest of him was so willing to let go. He turned his head slightly, purposefully allowing the movement to bring him into closer contact with whatever Melkor was still doing with his lips, now closer to his ear. He caught sight of dark hair again, the Vala’s own head ducked.

“None,” Melkor breathed, the word a puff of air against his skin. “And I will not go against that, not for you. I wish so dearly for you to join me, to keep me company with your delightful presence even for a short while.”

Mairon felt his heart lighten with the idea now, laid bare and accepted between them as though it were as easy as anything in the world around them, even when such a thing was as forbidden as their encounter now. An adventure. Mountains, and the most precious gems, and - and this liquid earth… Sights no one save Melkor himself, their own creator, had laid eyes upon - Mairon would be made witness to them all, he would see the world Melkor saw. The thrill gripped his chest again and he smiled, his eyes alighting on the dahlia once more. 

Another of Melkor’s creations, so simple and yet so very, very beautiful. 

“When shall we leave?” he asked, edging his face around even closer now, surprising himself with his own daring when his nose brushed against Melkor’s temple. “Soon, won’t we?”

Melkor, delighted with Mairon suddenly returning his arduous touch, grinned widely and began to plant little kisses along the back of his jaw and over his freckled cheek, which was now in much easier reach. “In such a rush to leave, are you? Would this evening be soon enough for your impatient soul?” He paused his questions to press his lips in a short line upward toward Mairon’s ear again, where he whispered, “You may meet me outside the main gates, past the treeline. You’ll find me without difficulty. Come once you’ve finished in the forge, bring whatever you think you’ll need - clothing, mining equipment, decent shoes for rough terrain -”

But he suddenly stopped and turned, looking over his shoulder toward the trees at the edge of the clearing behind them. His body stiffened with displeased tension, his arms sliding away from about Mairon’s waist.

“Someone is coming,” he murmured, the disappointment evident as he began to stand. “I must go. You will find me later?”

For the first time, Mairon detected a hint of uncertainty in Melkor’s tone, and he looked up into the Vala’s face as he stood towering over him. Their eyes met, and whatever hesitancy had been lining Melkor’s face vanished as though it had not been there at all. Mairon nodded once and smiled, allowing his excitement to show through the small action. “Yes. Yes, I will see you after the bell’s toll this evening.”

Mairon glanced over his shoulder now, as well, as the sound of voices approached their small clearing. When he turned back, ready to give a warning of his own, Melkor was already gone, a wisp of shadow melting into the treetops. Flower petals fells down over Mairon’s head for only a moment in its wake, soft and fragrant, and suddenly someone called from behind him with joyous surprise.

“Mairon! We did not know you were here, as well!”

He looked back again, catching sight of Olórin and Curumo ambling into the glen with a basket of beautiful fresh fruit and a folded blanket, obviously prepared for a picnic. Olórin raised his hand in a jovial wave after his greeting, and Curumo beamed at him, a slight flush coming into his cheeks as their gazes met.

“Hello, Olórin,” Mairon said, returning their smiles. “My dear Curumo. Have you both finished your work for the day?” he asked, indicating the basket.

“For the most part,” Olórin replied with a hearty laugh. “But then, it is always a good time to take a break for food, wouldn’t you agree? Especially food as sweet as this. Would you like to join us?”

The two newcomers had reached where he was sitting, and Olórin set the basket down as Curumo unfolded the blanket for them to recline upon. Neither noticed the bent clover behind him, indicating another had recently vacated that very spot. 

“Goodness, Mairon, look at your hair!” Curumo suddenly exclaimed, raising his face again as he found a comfortable seat. 

Confused by his curious outburst, Mairon’s hand flew up to the crown of his head, where it immediately met the many flowers and intricate braids he had nearly forgotten about. “Oh. Yes, I -” 

Olórin began to study him as well, picking up a perfectly ripened pear and biting into it as he did so. “How lovely! Did you do this yourself? Wherever did all these flowers come from?” He reached out with a clean hand to touch one of the buds Mairon could not see, though Curumo kept his own hands firmly at his side even when Mairon looked at him.

The dahlia was still in his grasp and he lowered it to his lap, careful not to harm any of the petals. He would place the bloom securely in drying powders when he returned to his room, preserve it for an eternity, if it would last so long. Olórin and Curumo crooned over him and his marvelous hair for only another moment before turning the conversation to other things. Mairon joined them for as long as he could manage before growing wearisome with what trivial gossip they had to offer between them. He closed his book and pulled it up to his chest.

Already, his mind was in another world. A world of adventure, a world with Melkor and mountains, a world with beautiful flowers and earth that came to life under his touch.

A world that was no longer here.

A world he was ready to leave behind.


End file.
